archived

my face crimsoned,

back in the fragile winter air,

i wished for the bloom on my neck to last,

with your whispers blowing in my hair.

on a clement night of balladry,

you enveloped me like a warm blanket,

through the beating hours that ran so fast,

as i fell asleep in your jacket.

my ardour wanting you to hold me tight,
your fingers entwined with mine,

is this why I hide you in every verse I write?

my senses numbed in the gelid weather,

repenting not disclosing your flaws as delightful as a heather. 

you.
the flower to my plant,
the star to my sky,
the solace to my sorrow,
the inspiration to my mind.

                                - isha